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Suspended teens want meeting with state officals about the standardized test

Local News
A dozen Santa Fe High School students stood in front of the state Public
Education Department today, calling for a meeting with Public Education
Department Secretary Hanna Skandera over testing that they say goes too
far. ... More

One Foot Out: Bobcat Bite

December 9, 2011, 8:00 am

By Emily Talbot

Their burgers are legendary, the venue
world-famous, the chile just right. I had always overheard glowing reports of
the little pink adobe joint off of Old Las Vegas Highway, but somehow in 17
years had never made the trip (probably due to its off-kilter hours).

This past Saturday, I am finally crossing Bobcat
Bite off my to-do list. The excursion happens to double as a date with Tobias,
also a Prep senior, but unlike me, not a complete stranger to Bobcat Bite.
After nearly driving past the inconspicuous, one-room restaurant, we enter
tentatively and snag spots at the counter. Customers sit quietly at a handful
of tables, savoring the cavern shielded from the first real snow drifts,
icicles and powdered trees of the season.

Green chile cheeseburgers are advertised as the
kitchen’s specialty, so with one glance at the menus, our order is a
no-brainer. Sitting at the counter on spindly iron chairs, we have a perfect
view of the brown, white and red-streaked birds darting into the feeders capped
with mounds of soft-serve snow. A baseball-capped tourist beside us snaps
photos of the Santa Fe wildlife in action—chickadees have to suffice, since the
bobcat is only a word in a painted name—and to clarify that the ruddy bird on
the right is actually a towhee.

Dimly lit, hung with faded denim cropped
curtains, the rustic room seems to clash with the Nutcracker soundtrack wafting
from the sizzling kitchen. On the other side of the counter, shelves are lined
with lollipop trays, Hershey’s bars and mints (for the little kids only, as it
turns out). But most of the shelf space is dedicated to innumerable
ribbons—blue, green and yellow—golden cups, trophies and plaques commemorating
the celebrity food item we are about to receive. Open boasts of such an
impressive track record in the suspense of awaiting the burger itself really
set the standards high. No pressure.

We’ve marveled at the awards and appreciated the
coziness. We’ve heard the crackling, tantalizing sounds of grilling, sautéing
and plating in the room next door. Then, finally, the quintessential red
plastic baskets lined with protective wax paper slide over to us. Bottom bun,
browned meat and hearty green chile strips topped with gooey white cheddar
cheese squat on the left side, as tall alone as any lesser plebeian burger,
next to the potato chips. Tomato, lettuce and puffy brioche top bun wait on the
right side.

Now the feat remains of putting the two together
and attempting to fit the whole ensemble in a bite. After nibbling away at the
bread, I let the juices of perfectly medium-rare beef leak onto the addictive
potato chips (they don’t need those stiff ridges anyway) and dribble down my
thumbs, trying to contain a burger that practically bursts its seams. Each
mouthful of succulent meat disintegrates deliciously. The green chile’s roasted
sweetness doesn’t overpower the grease and melty ooze of the cheddar. I find it
difficult to put down the sandwich for fear of its coming unlayered.

Now I know what the world has been talking
about. Beats me how an adobe room off the beaten path in Santa Fe was
pinpointed as the international magnum opus of burgerdom, but I’m not about to
complain about my close proximity. The dozens of restaurant guide prizes and
Santa Fe’s Best ribbons don’t lie, nor do the forks and knives knowledgeably
provided for those last few sopping bites. We aren’t disappointed—except in
that we can’t finish off the last bite.